


An Anchor for the End of the World

by kuro49



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Pre-Slash, post S1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whether he falls or flies, it can be said that Peter has him by the ankle, dragging him down (holding him up.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Anchor for the End of the World

**Author's Note:**

> My first AO3 anniversary is also the end of the world? Well then, have a fic!

Neal tries, he really really does.

But there’s a fire burning he can’t put out. And it’s a wretched place to be when Peter holds him back, pulling him into a protection he doesn’t want when the world explodes into fragments. It smells like gasoline set alight and a conviction read out loud.

He can’t imagine a conman without his Kate.

 

Neal isn’t in shock.

Still, when he looks down at his artist hands, they shake with an assurance that nothing’s right. He doesn’t see Peter up in his office looking down, (doesn’t know that Peter likes his office so much more now that it has a direct view of Neal’s desk) he doesn’t see a lot of things in his blind need to stop. Just stop. 

He presses his hands down, flat against the smooth of his desk, and doesn’t freak out.

 

Neal is holding on with both hands.

And it can be said that he is staying afloat, a hair fraction from drowning. He imagines it to burn on the way down, he imagines being surrounded by darkness and feeling cold, so cold, and then nothing at all.

He imagines there will be no one when he finally goes.

 

Neal’s hands are still shaking.

He refuses to swallow it down as PTSD but his hands are shaking. His eyes are red, he hasn’t been sleeping. But no, Neal is just fine. He feels detached on his good days and it is easy to smile a smile that reaches his eyes. But the snow has pass in New York. They call it survivor’s guilt in textbooks and pamphlets.

He simply knows it as being alive when she is not.

 

Neal dreams of Kate.

Kate laughs, and it is the most beautiful act of cruelty to his heart. So he imagines she is real and he breathes in the sweet air around her and kisses his pain into her skin. He imprints jagged broken bits of himself on her lips until she is part dust, part plane, and he is only a little more than a little dead.

He dreams that she burns and he drowns in the rain that puts out the fire in the night.

 

“Come on, buddy, you’re doing good.”

Neal feels a hand between his shoulder blades, rubbing circles against the muscles of his back. He is dripping wet and coughing when he sits up on his bed. He is naked and heaving with Peter at his side and he thinks he sees Moz lying down towels to soak up the water trailing from the bathroom.

It’s not suicide, he wants to say. It’s not quite an accident either, he has to add when he is finally able to look up at Peter.

“Just breathe, Neal, you’re okay.”

There is water in his eyes and water on his skin, and then there is still Peter’s hand that stays. It is a warmth that settles to seep deep within and it isn’t until then that he feels he can breathe since the day the plane explodes with dear Kate inside. Neal takes a ragged breath and finally, doesn’t choke.

It can be said that Peter has him by the ankle, dragging him down deeper into the water. It can also be said that Peter swam them both to shore.

Neal breathes out and knows. (It’s going to be okay.)

XXX Kuro


End file.
